The Other Foot
by welovekarmy
Summary: Karma and Amy haven't spoken in a month due to events that have transpired. Will they get back to normal or is there something more going on beneath the surface?


**_AN: Hey guys, we_lovekarmy here from Twitter. This is the first fanfic I've written in five years, so please be gentle. I just _had _to come out of hiding, because Faking It is amazing. I'm truly obsessed with Karmy.  
_**

**_Comment regardless if you like it or if you hate it, and I'm very open to suggestions/constructive criticism. If you like it, I'll write more, so please review! _**

**_Also, I apologize for how short this is, but it's just the introduction. The following chapters will be longer._**

**_Here we go. *hides*_**

The Other Foot

You stand in front of the coffee shop, hesitant as ever. Does the outfit you've thrown together at the last possible minute flatter your shape? Do you even have two of the same shoe on? You check, and the answer is yes, phew. Do you look like a person who has been pacing back and forth from one end of your room to the other deciding whether or not to go through with this?

You wonder if you're making a huge mistake, not telling your best friend, the person who has been your entire world since you were five, the truth. The thoughts you've been having. The uncertainty of all of this.

You stare at the door of The Beaver, clutching your bag tightly, like you're holding onto it for dear life. Without thinking it over any further, you walk in.

It's not very loud in The Beaver, but there are a few tables of mostly females who are the source of the light mumbles vibrating off of the dully colored walls. You notice a silver necklace hanging off of one of the girls at the table to the left of the cashiers. It reminds you of the friendship necklace you got _her _when you were twelve. You wince at the thought of how much simpler things were back then.

The girl even looks like your best friend—not nearly as beautiful, but pretty nonetheless with a lovely grin and a perfect set of cheekbones. But this girl isn't _her_. You honestly don't know where she is now—you two haven't spoken in twenty nine days and three hundred sixty five minutes. Not since you…well you don't want to go there right now; not again, anyway.

You both still have a lot of the same classes at Hester. You see her five days a week, but never speak or make eye contact, because that would just make things more difficult than they already are. That's how everything appears to be these days: difficult.

You keep to yourself most of the time, busying a good part of your days with schoolwork. You tell yourself that you're doing it to get into a good college, but deep down you've never cared much about your grades. You two used to study together occasionally, but would get hungry and wind up eating frosting out of the container, binging on _Twilight_ films in the process.

Everything is all kinds of awful right now, which is why you are here now, outside of The Beaver. Trying to figure your shit out so that you can get her back. You _have_ to, because whether you like it or not, she is all you can think about every minute of every day. You decide to stick to the plan you have, because you can't stand another moment without her.

Calm is what you need to be right now. Serene. Because the rainbow flag hanging behind the cash registers reminds you of what being here means.

After you've ordered yourself a mocha cappuccino, you spot an empty table and sit down. The chair is unusually cold, as the air conditioner is blasting right behind you. You should feel grateful for it, since it's particularly hot today in Austin, but you don't. Instead, you are left wishing you had your best friend to keep you warm.

When Sierra walks in, you recognize her right away.

"You looked a lot different on Sizzor," you tell her, but quickly counter with, "Not that you're worse looking or anything, because...Sorry. I've just never done this before."

Initially you're a mix between intimidated and shocked at how good looking this girl is. She is light skinned with dark brown hair that is shaved on one side, and is dressed in a baseball tee and tight blue jeans. After a few minutes, the conversation becomes light and easy, like you've known Sierra for years, not mere minutes.

"When did you realize you were gay?" she asks, and you fall silent. Your coffee cup seems like a better view point than the girl's perfectly symmetrical face. "I'm sorry," the brunette says sincerely. "If you're unsure or whatever, I didn't mean to push or anything."

"No, no, it's okay," you say uncomfortably. "I don't really know _what_ I am, to be honest. I mean labels aren't something I've ever been into. I think I'm into women. Girls. Well," you pause, and frustratingly stare up at the ceiling, "One girl, actually. I'm not really sure what to—"

"Is that why you wanted to meet up? Because I'm not sure that I have the answers you're looking for."

"No, I just—I've never—um—felt like this before and—uh—you seemed nice online and—I don't know!" You realize that you are just entirely unhinged and the girl sitting beside you isn't making things any better. "I have no one else to talk to, and I just figured that someone like you would understand what I'm going through. Fuck knows nobody else does."

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, checking your phones or digging out the dirt from underneath your fingernails, before Sierra apologizes.

"You're right. I do know what it's like to feel confused at fifteen. It sucks and you can't really do anything to control it," she says. "It can be really fucking tough. So who's the girl?"

"My best friend," you say, with a sad smile.

"Man, that's the worst. Why don't you just tell her how you feel?"

You tell her all about faking being lesbians in order to gain popularity and the consequences that came with that. How you and the girl you have conflicting feelings for drifted apart. Being a senior at another school across town, Sierra hardly knows anyone from Hester—an added bonus for you. All of your secrets could remain safe; something she assures you after you show multiple signs of vulnerability.

"I know you have this…_thing_ for your best friend, but it doesn't mean we can't…you know," Sierra says, winking. "Does it? I can teach you the ways of the trade."

You laugh, but you decide that being honest was the best policy. Something you've learned over the past few weeks.

"If the circumstances were different, I would consider it," you flirt. "But I wouldn't want to promise you anything without a payoff. But we can be friends?"

"Friend zoned already? Shit," she jokes. You begin gathering up your belongings and discuss meeting up with Sierra again as you do so. "Well, despite how cute I think you are, I sincerely hope things work out between you and your 'friend.'"

"Thanks. I think I need to pay her a visit," you say, nervous as ever. Just the mere thought of seeing her makes a pit form at the bottom of your stomach. What would you even say to her? How would you even begin to apologize for what you did?

"That's a good start, I think," she says, slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some more fish to fry on Sizzor."

You genuinely laugh, and it's the first time in a month that you've felt yourself do so. "Seriously, thanks for your help. I've been going crazy dealing with this alone."

"Well, you can always text me if you need any more advice," Sierra says. "I am older and in turn, wiser, you know."

"I might take you up on that," you say, and you mean it. "I'll see you around, Sierra."

You walk away from the table and toward the front door, more confident than when you had first walked in. You take a last look at the massive rainbow flag and smile at it—a different reaction than the one you had initially.

"Later, Karma."


End file.
